


when the evening pulls the sun down

by countingpaperstars



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Festivals, Flashbacks, Flowers, Fluff and Angst, Full Bloom Zine Entry, Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:01:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22175989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingpaperstars/pseuds/countingpaperstars
Summary: The burst of green is a shock in a world returning to color and with it brings new growth in pains they’d buried alongside it.Prompto, Ignis, and Gladio look back on their time with Noctis when the first flowers bloom after the Dawn.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24
Collections: Full Bloom Zine (Final Fantasy XV)





	when the evening pulls the sun down

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This was my entry for the Full Bloom zine. This all came from the idea of the first flowers blooming after the Dawn. I took a bittersweet approach exploring separate interactions each of the boys had with Noctis surrounding flowers. Title is from Bloom by The Paper Kites.
> 
> Enjoy~

It’s hard not to check every day. Even after long hours full of building and planning, when they fall into their beds exhausted, the thought lingers in the back of their minds as they succumb to sleep. 

Prompto drops by the most, crouching next to the plot and humming little tunes as he pats the dirt and Gladio joins him when he can, a silent sentry keeping watch. Occasionally, on his early morning run, Prompto will spot Ignis standing before it by himself and join him. Waiting.

The sprouts come as surely as if they’ve always been there, stalks unfurling higher and higher. The burst of green is a shock in a world returning to color and with it brings new growth in pains they’d buried alongside it.

* * *

“So, what do you need me to do?”

“Pick a flower.”

Noctis’ nose scrunches. “A… flower.”

“A particular flower that only blooms at dawn, indigenous to these parts,” says Gladio. He crosses his arms and glances over at Mount Ravatogh in the distance. “Iris has always had a soft spot for ‘em.”

“An early morning.” Noctis sighs. “Well, at least it’ll be easy pickings. You can count on me.”

When they wake in the morning, the volcano is a dark smudge looming on the horizon. Rain drizzles down on them, the clouds low and wispy as they trek through hills made of boulders. Noctis runs ahead as they search, boots squeaking on the wet grass.

He’d risen from his sleep with minimal complaint, much to Gladio’s surprise, but he thinks of those they’ve helped along the way – the frogs, the photographs, a cat in need of a cooked meal – and yeah, even he can admit Noctis has a soft spot for those in need of assistance. Despite his growing frustration at Noctis’ reluctant path towards their goal, Gladio can’t help but respect his care for Lucis’ people.

“Noct, I see one! There.” Gladio points up at the small plant on the crest of rock. He locks his fingers together, boosting Noctis over the ridge before pulling himself up after.

The patch of grass is carpeted with small, pink flowers stretching towards the sky. Overhead, the sun cracks open the grey clouds, filtering in the dawn. The rain is cold and refreshing on Gladio’s skin and as he watches the day begin anew a fresh breath of life fills his veins.

Their journey hasn’t been easy. The cuts across his chest and brow smart with the memory of his trials, and Gladio knows he isn’t the only one carrying hardships. It’s more than they can bear some days, but still they carry on and he’s determined to be strong enough to support Noctis when he can’t forge forward himself. It’s his duty, both as his shield and as his friend.

Noctis’ pleased grin stands out more than anything as they pick flowers beneath the rising sun. With a full bouquet in hand, they stand on the ridge and Gladio throws his arm over his shoulders as they watch the color spill back into Lucis.

* * *

Prompto leans his elbows on the desk and clasps his hands together with a pout. “Please, Noct?”

“I don’t know why it’s such a big deal.”

“Isn’t this for your family? The ‘ _throne’s longevity_ ’ and all that?”

With a sigh, Noctis gathers his things. “Stop quoting Ignis, it sounds weird.” Despite his protests, he stands and leads the way from their classroom and Prompto whoops, looping an arm around Noctis’ neck as they step outside. The school hallways are nearly empty, cleared swiftly in a dash for the freedom outside. 

“It’s just flowers.”

“Yeah, but I’ve never been to this before,” Prompto admits. “It’s exciting!”

Noctis falls quiet at that, heading to the front gate where his guard meets them, usual uniform forgone for civilian clothes. She doesn’t comment on their change of plans, falling in step behind them as they wind their way uptown.

The taste of autumn nips sharp in the air, deep and rich. Prompto sucks in a breath and sighs, making an effort to step on the really crunchy leaves along the sidewalk. Every year the chrysanthemum festival sits like a golden candle before the dark of winter, streets crowded with bushels and carts and baskets of all colors. All the passing shop fronts are decorated with banners and bursting with blooms.

When they reach one of the city’s bustling plazas, it’s no different – hundreds of people milling around, purchasing flowers and food, or lounging at the picnic tables along the park grass to enjoy the lingering sunlight. Vases lined up on a table in the corner are scrutinized by a judge with glasses perched low on his nose, all vying for a chance at a ribbon. Two children rush past, flower crowns sat on their heads as they laugh.

Prompto glances at Noctis from the corner of his eye, sticky nerves collected in his stomach. He hasn’t quite settled into their friendship, unsure of the slight tells of Noctis’ expressions. They may be subtle, but they’re there. He hopes he hasn’t chosen wrong by dragging him along.

He keeps up a stream of chatter as they wander, only to cut off when Noctis stops him with a hand on his sleeve. The stall to their side boasts bulbs of shimmering gold and red and he reaches out to point at one of the smaller flowers.

“I’ll take this one,” he says, and the owner bumbles about to complete the transaction. It sits in the crook of Noctis’ arm as they complete their circuit around the festival tents, swaying in time with their steps.

They have dinner at one of the tables, munching on kabobs and chatting about the latest video game release. The flower sits on the table beside them, until Noctis wipes his hands on a napkin and pushes it over.

“This is for you.”

Prompto halts mid-bite. “Me?”

Slanting his eyes away, Noctis nods. “I’m… happy we’re friends.” He leaves it at that and fidgets with his empty skewer, as if that’s all that needs to be said – as if he hasn’t squeezed the air from Prompto’s lungs. 

Prompto takes the plant, touching the soft petals and blinking the moisture from his eyes. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Noctis grins. “Who else would keep you out of trouble.”

He laughs when Prompto punches him on the shoulder and they dissolved into playful bickering. The molten honey of summer has long dripped away, but later that night when Prompto props his flower in the sill of his room’s window he thinks, just maybe, he’s managed to keep some of its warmth with him. When he rises in the morning to the sun glistening off the petals he vows to do what he can to keep it in his life.

* * *

Ignis hears him long before he speaks. 

“What are you doing up?”

A breeze rolls across the ocean, the asters swaying in their garden before him like waves upon a sea of red. Even in the dark he catches the mischievous gleam in Noctis’ eye. 

“I could ask you the same,” says Ignis. 

Below the cliff, the waves roll in; never steady, always changing. The moon shines down in its fullness, reminiscent of the nights he and Noctis would sneak out to stare at the stars above the Wall. He’s only ever seen the ocean in pictures, movies, and once at one of Insomnia’s quiet, inlet beaches.

“It’s different than I imagined,” he says.

“It’s different than I remember,” says Noctis.

Tomorrow sits heavy on the horizon, reluctant to pull back the evening’s shadows. Altissia awaits, the boat below stocked and primed for their journey, all their hopes and fears ready to set sail along with it. Despite all that remains unknown, Ignis’ heart beats strong and steady.

He and Noctis have both grown, however quickly or reluctantly, but for all they’ve changed they are also still the same.

“Are you ready?” Noctis asks and his voice wavers a touch.

“No,” says Ignis, “but I will always be by your side.”

Noctis blinks down at the aster between his boots and Ignis stares out at the blur of water and sky. An ocean lies between them and the future, but no matter the storms or waves they’ll weather it together.

* * *

It happens on a day they’ve all come together, Prompto and Gladio faltering as the garden bed comes into view.

“What is it?” Ignis asks. He reaches out, fingers brushing against the petals of a blooming flower, and freezes.

The layers of blue lie unfolded like the tiers of a cake, the sylleblossoms dancing close together in the breeze. Ignis pulls back and stretches out a hand for someone to take, all of them joining together and gripping tight. Their shadows fall across the patch as the sun rises. If the ground dampens beneath their feet no one says a word about it.

“How do they look?”

Gladio’s jaw is clenched tight, so Prompto clears his throat and says, “Beautiful. Same as they were before.”

They fall silent, the missing link between them an aching wound. A breeze passes over them. They feel as though they are not alone, a familiar scent washing over them before it’s gone.

All that’s left are the flowers – the firstones since the Dawn. It took time to work the hard ground into something that could foster growth – time to encourage the flowers to settle in and blossom – but the sylleblossoms have broken through as if it were easy as anything.

It’s as if the final string has snapped, the last tether holding them to the past. The waiting is over and done and all that’s left is to move forward. They don’t move for a long while, grief and relief alike sticking their feet in place. And one day, they think, perhaps they’ll be able to follow the sylleblossoms’ example – follow their king and friend’s final wish – and thrive.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! What did you think?
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/countpaperstars) | [writing blog](http://countingpaperstars.tumblr.com) | [tumblr](http://thenameisfame.tumblr.com)


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